The Lion King
by HallowRook
Summary: AU. Hogwarts, the only school of magic in the United Kingdom, is a standing joke. Yet, the Ministry of Magic is a major player in the world, their novice politicians are ruthless, and their innovation is surpassed only by their rebellious former colony. Harry knew none of this when he entered First Year. He will be led down the road of high treason—and he'll bring others along.
1. A Matter of Pride

A/N: If you don't know where the title of this fic came from, you really haven't lived. But for legal purposes, I must inform you all that this story was inspired by the beloved film, _The Lion King_. Let me make this clear: this is not a crossover. This is my attempt at an interesting Gryffindor.

I'm not sure how frequent my updates will be, but don't expect them every day, or even every week. I'll try, of course, but this is my senior year of high school, so I'm kinda busy. Also, this will be the shortest chapter in the whole story—the next one will take place in Harry's Fourth Year. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.

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Disclaimer**:** I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make money off FanFiction.

Warning: AU. Cheesiness (as it always is when dealing with a silly club with silly names). Politics (never expect anything less than a lie. Only trust in the events as they play out, and the thoughts of the narrator). I'm American (needs no explanation).

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_I dedicate this little ditty to humanity, and to my embarrassed future self. May I look back on this story and think, 'At least this is anonymous.'_

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"I know your powers of retention are as wet as a warthog's backside. As thick as you are, _pay attention_! My words are a matter of pride. It's clear from your vacant expressions, the lights are not all on upstairs—but we're talking _kings_ and _successions_! Even _you_ cannot be caught unawares!

—Scar, 'Be Prepared,' _The Lion King_

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**The Lion King  
****Chapter One: A ****Matter of Pride**

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_"Merlin!" _the Sorting Hat exclaimed, sounding harassed. They had been going at it for at least three minutes. _"Come, Harry, Slytherin fits you near _perfectly_! Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that__—__"_

_"No," _said Harry with a stubborn set of his jaw. _"Gryffindor. I told him I'd be in Gryffindor."_

_"Forget about Draco Malfoy!"_ the Sorting Hat snapped. _"This is about _you_, your future__—__"_

_"And I won't be great in Gryffindor?"_ challenged Harry. _"You only said that Slytherin would 'help,' not _make_ me great. Will Gryffindor make me great? And you said I fit Slytherin 'near perfectly.' How well do I fit Gryffindor?"_

The brief flare of panic that brushed his skull like the wings of a frantic butterfly was all the answer Harry needed.

_"Gryffindor."_

_"Talent, oh my goodness, yes__—__dear boy, you are so talented. And an unhealthy thirst to prove yourself. My, that does remind me of something… Perhaps _ambition_?"_

_"Gryffindor."_

_"What about Hermione Granger?_ _She's a Gryffindor."_

Harry gritted his teeth. The hat was _good_.

_"Gryffindor."_

_"Oh, alright! Forget Slytherin, what about Ravenclaw?"_

_"No. Gryffindor."_

_"Ravenclaw would fit you well, you have an agile mind. And they enjoy solitude, just like you__—__"_

_"Nice try. Gryffindor."_

_"Hufflepuff! What about Hufflepuff? You'll find your life-long friends there, you'll never be alone again!"_

His resolve faltered for a moment, and foreign relief invaded his mind as the Sorting Hat shifted—

_"So what?"_ interrupted Harry, scoffing. _"I can still be in Gryffindor and have my best friends, can't I? Hagrid said that those Houses are friends."_

Displeasure billowed into his ears. _"That's not__—__" _

_"Gryffindors are allowed to interact with Hufflepuffs, aren't they?"_

_"Well, yes, but not quite how you think__—__"_

_"Gryffindor."_

_"Please, __j__ust choose Hufflepuff!"_

_"_Why_? What do you have against Gryffindor?" _groused Harry, frustrated.

Abruptly, it struck Harry, and he bit his lip. An unpleasant feeling slunk through his intestines like an agitated serpent._ "You don't think I'm good enough, is that it?" _

Everyone he had spoken to had claimed Gryffindor was the best—except Draco Malfoy, of course. Obviously he had just been fooling himself. What made him think he could join the elite of the best magical school in the world? The attention of a scant few Gryffindors?

He needed to get a hold of himself. It was just as Ollivander said: great things were expected of him simply because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. The Sorting Hat easily saw through the title to the disappointment he truly was. He was so pathetic that _a hat_ was leery of hurting his feelings with the hard truth.

_"I'll make a new House!"_ the Sorting Hat cried, sounding deranged. _"You'll be the Founder, you'll have access to Hogwarts' magic, you can make up rules, you can expel students, you'll__—__!"_

_"What?"_

_"A new House! I can give you a new House!"_

Quite suddenly, heat began to expand from the center of his brain like a plume of magma, and Harry gasped as it peaked at an extremely uncomfortable temperature. He quaked with small tremors, never fearing death more. It felt like a large hand was smothering his face, and red streaked through his darkened vision much like the time he had fainted.

Just when he thought couldn't take it any longer, cool rivets trickled through his burning mind, bringing with it alien images and impressions. Knowledge not seen in centuries nestled deep within his psych.

The restless murmurs from the Great Hall were muffled and distant as Harry struggled to comprehend what he was being offered. He listened to his breathing for a whole minute before he understood. At first, he was sure it was a cruel trick. Then, a mental tendril caused his whole body to go rigid, and his fingers, curled under the edge of the small stool, turned white as he griped the wood.

The Sorting Hat was handing him success on a silver platter.

Warmth overtook Harry's spine, and his heart beat wildly in tandem with his excitement.

Never in his short miserable life had he been in control of _anything_. Aunt Petunia always said he'd be a deadbeat, a failure. Now this insane, talking, mind-reading hat was giving him power—it was handing him certainty, and generations of magical people to shape as he pleased.

His mind shuddered before it exploded in a frenzy, racing through possible futures and triumphs.

Then—as if magic forged, into tangible thought, a devastating blade—the spiteful words he spat in Diagon Ally sliced through his dazed, consuming joy.

_"No," _thought Harry, wilting. The agony of tremendous disappointment squeezed his heart. _"No, I said I would be a Gryffindor. That's what I said."_

_"You don't have to keep your word!" _the Sorting Hat despaired. _"No one goes through life without breaking promises. Y__ou'd find that prevalent in Gryffindor. It's all a matter of pride for them, it's all about their legacy. They'd do anything to win. That's all they care about."_

Harry was a bit shocked. He had an inkling, but never dreamed that it would be confirmed. He had thought he was just paranoid. Overwhelmed, perhaps, from being thrust into an underground world.

Gryffindor was rotten to its core. Even the Slytherins, the apparent 'dark, evil, slimy snakes,' seemed to be a glowing angels compared to the resident lions if the hat's resistance tonight was anything to go by.

His mind flashed to Hagrid's blank eyes as he cursed Dudley with a pig's tail, then dismissed the importance of the Statute of Secrecy when Harry insisted muggle doctors would be suspicious. He thought of the Weasley family, their presumptuous intervention and pitying smiles. Hermione Granger's face swam into view, eyes scathing and actions brusque, arrogant. _Prideful._

He didn't want to be a part of that—that delusion of grandeur. The Sorting Hat just presented him a gift beyond his wildest dreams, no matter its motives for slandering Gryffindor House. He would be an absolute idiot to turn it down.

But… _Draco_.

_"No. I'll be different."_

_"Harry…" _His name was spoken like a warning._ "The world is a horrible place. There is no honor, there is no good—"_

_"I know. But I'll be different."_

_"Please." _The whisper was raspy, wobbly. _"Do something nice for yourself. Go into another House. Make a new House. Choose Hufflepuff—be happy."_

Harry's breath was shallow. He wanted to go to Hufflepuff. He wanted his own House. _"I—I can't… I can't. I'll be different. That's what I promised myself. I promised myself I'd be different than the Dursleys, than Ms. Figg and Mrs. Tonks. That's the only way—that's the only way I'll be happy. I have to keep my promises."_

_"Very well," _the Sorting Hat sighed, defeated. _"You're not unique in that House, Harry. Be true. And be aware that they'll eat you alive unless you destroy them. Keep your head down until you can."_

_"What—?"_

Again, the Sorting Hat sighed. _"Better be_—GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word was shouted to the Great Hall, and brilliant light pierced Harry's eyes as the frayed hat was lifted from his head. Blood pounded loudly on his eardrums. He could only stare at his new House, dread congealing a heavy stone at the bottom of his gut.

The children from the red and gold table had leapt to their feet, stomping, clapping, mouths open in soundless screams. They moved like animals, untamed and elated, high on adrenalin. There was a wildness in their bright eyes that made him fear the Sorting Hat's words were every bit as literal as they were ominous.

How could the other Houses miss it? The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gazed at the Gryffindors in reverence, looked to them to lead. Slytherins sneered at them, disdainful and lofty. They were blind—they were sheep, the lot of them.

Harry vowed he'd never be another lamb in the herd.

A hand clawed his shoulder, and the noise of the Great Hall rushed back. Harry looked up at Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Potter," she said. The stern lines of her face were at odds with the pleased smile at the corners of her sharp mouth. "Please sit down with your House-mates."

He was inexplicably reminded of a lioness eyeing the runt of the litter.

_They'll eat you alive unless you destroy them._

Harry stood, desperately hoping he would not collapse as his knees quivered and the snake in his stomach hissed acid. He nearly tripped when he caught sight of glaring black eyes from the Head Table, and a flare of pain in his frontal lobe jolted him. He shielded from the greasy professor, utterly baffled by the loathing that twisted the man's features—and looked right into twinkling electric-blue.

Headmaster Dumbledore flashed Harry his gleaming teeth around his glowing white mane as he regally raised his goblet in toast. The cheering from the Gryffindors crescendoed, and the old man's deep rumbling voice easily rolled across the table and stone.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry Potter."

Harry looked away quickly, deeply unnerved. His eyes grazed over Ron Weasley standing with the other pre-Sorted First Years before he hurried to the Gryffindor Table.

He itched to race back to the protection of the stool. It felt like he was sauntering into a circus ring filled with hungry lions. They reached for him and swallowed him in their numbers, teeth shining and nails piercing as they embraced him, shook his hands, pounded his back. The Weasley twins sang, "_We got the Boy-Who-Lived! We got Potter_!" as Hermione Granger shouted to Neville Longbottom over the din, "_See_! I'll bet Smith is a Hufflepuff!"

"Oliver Wood." A tall boy around fifteen-years old seized Harry's hand, and his crazed eyes roamed obsessively over the younger boy's thin features. "I'm Alpha of the Den—and you'll be _my_ Cub!"

Oliver shoved him back into the student assembly line. With his senses overwhelmed by warm bodies and loud roars of delight, he felt something feral span over his face—one born of fright, of giddy deliriousness. It was infectious, their barbed enthusiasm, and it allowed him to push the Sorting Hat's warning to the back of his mind. His eyes flitted across the Great Hall and over the Slytherin Table for the one person he did want to see.

Harry stared Draco Malfoy dead in the eye, and grinned widely at the blond's horrified expression.

"_Told you_."


	2. What Never Dies

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make money off FanFiction.

Warning: AU. Cheesiness. Politics. I'm American.

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**The Lion King  
****Chapter**** Two: ****What Never Dies**

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Hermione Granger was staring at him again.

It was the first of September. Students chattered loudly, excited to be with friends after a long summer full of trepidation. The Great Hall sparkled with dazzling light from the hundreds of candles floating over the tables. Their slow circular patterns gave the curious illusion of their ascension, which then exacerbated the falling smoky heavens, displayed as they were by the enchanted ceiling.

Harry liked to gaze at the candles and pretend he hovered among them, pulled along by the strange magnetism that held them together. He did this often, nearly every mealtime, so much so that he sometimes fooled himself into believing he held the secret of their sequences. But it helped him relax, helped steer his mind from reality.

Reality such as Hermione Granger staring at him.

He should be use it by now. Hermione had always watched him, suspicious and determined. The only thing that changed now was that she finally had 'dirt' on him.

Harry grimaced, and the blanket of clouds rippled. Laughing at him.

He caught the eye of Fred Weasley, who smirked and nudged his twin. George dragged his focus from Angelina Johnson, one of their apparent Betas, and waved cheerfully at Harry.

He hastily turned. In reality, the twins were far more dangerous than Oliver Wood had ever been.

Reality.

Harry swept the length of the Gryffindor Table, unease clenching his abdomen. Whenever he looked at the empty spots, he couldn't help but feel responsible. That the Sorting Hat was better because of him. That Harry was _the only_ idiot that hadn't managed to stifle his pride.

Because that's what it all came down to. That's what it always came down to. It was the one thing Harry couldn't beat down, the sin he couldn't escape.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were tense. The other teachers were similarly subdued, sympathetic to the plight of their most respected colleagues. All the teachers, except one.

The most loathed Professor Snape. Per usual these last couple years, he was excessively smug. To be more accurate, _excessively stupid_.

"Children have smartened up," the man told the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year.

It was the one time Harry witnessed Gryffindors truly lose hold of their tempers. Professor McGonagall _and_ Headmaster Dumbledore had been so angry they deducted all of Gryffindor's points, and assigned every then-Seventh Year a three month detention. Amazingly, Snape still didn't get it.

_He might_, Harry allowed, bored. Never underestimate your enemy, and all that necessary tosh.

"Harry?" a voice breathed in his ear.

Starting slightly, Harry turned to face a strained Neville Longbottom. He didn't look well. His skin was a pasty pale, almost translucent, and his sunken cheeks and protruding bones suggested he lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time.

"What's up?"

Neville's eyes darted nervously to the Weasley twins. "I need to talk to you."

Harry looked at him suspiciously.

"You should talk to Hermione," he said pointedly.

Neville shook his head, and mumbled, "This is important."

"So you've decided to spout 'important' information in the middle of the Great Hall instead of waiting until we're in the Common Room?" Harry said icily. This was all Hermione's fault.

"I couldn't find you on the train. By the time we get to the Common Room, it'll already be too late."

Harry scoffed and looked away. Other Gryffindors might find humor in Neville Longbottom's maneuvers, but Harry understood what purpose they served. He sometimes employed it on the Dursleys.

"_No, really_," Neville said hoarsely, and grabbed Harry's arm.

Harry met Hermione's gaze. She raised her eyebrows, expression void as she brushed a curl behind her ear. _He's __your problem now._

He gritted his teeth and looked back at Neville.

"Well?"

"Gran was worried about sending me back to Hogwarts this year. She wouldn't tell me why until I threatened to write to McGonagall. The King's going to force his hand with the Sorting Hat." His voice was lower than a whisper, and Harry had to hold his breath to hear him at all. "He doesn't like what's been happening in Gryffindor. He's going to start interfering."

"Don't just _give yourself away_. People only respect those who _respect themselves_," Oliver once told him. It was to be remembered whenever he was frustrated, and especially in such moments when he had an intense desire to break someone's nose. All Gryffindors knew the Lion King was instinctively distinguished from the rest of the Pride—so what gave Neville the gall to pretend Dumbledore wasn't the King was beyond him.

"That's nice."

"Nice?" Neville sounded flabbergasted. He was a rather good actor.

"That's right."

"But, Harry, you have to stop it!"

He looked back at the boy, incredulous, as the rest of the table turned to the commotion.

"What?" Harry hissed. Maybe Neville really was just stupid.

Or perhaps he _wasn't there_. Neville's pupils were blown, his irises were glassy, and his whites were bloodshot. He whispered fervently, louder than before, but so inarticulately that he was nearly incoherent, "You must stop it! You have a Pride to look after now—We might have been awful to you, but we're still your Pride. You must stop it!"

Harry glowered furiously. "Just shout it a bit louder, would you?"

Neville shook rather like Nearly Headless Nick had ghosted through his chest.

"I don't even know what you're blabbering about," he continued. "But you better have a good excuse ready for the Common Room."

"No. No—_No_, Harry, you can't do this—!"

"Neville," Hermione called in a low, sharp voice. "Stop it this _instant_."

Neville looked at her wildly.

"You can't stop me," he said tremulously. "You can't."

Eyes darted to Harry, petrified, as the upperclassmen collectively gasped. Harry could _feel_ the rest of the chamber staring, and his hackles rose as the scorching glares of Dumbledore and McGonagall landed on the Fourth Pride.

It was one thing to challenge your Alpha in the Den. It was another thing entirely to do so in the Great Hall. _On September First_. An odd exchange was easily dismissed during the school year as exam nerves or a bit of stir-craze, but on the first day back at Hogwarts? Even if it didn't stick with the seasoned, it would stick like a limpet with every single First Year.

Hermione bared her large teeth. "Apologize!"

"N-NO!" Neville sprang to his feet, looking demented. "_You're not my Alpha_!"

Cries of outrage from the Gryffindors burst and dissipated like fireworks, and nearly all the Fourth Years blanched.

BANG!

The whole Hall jolted, and the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins looked about fearfully. The Gryffindors, however, stilled before slumping into relaxed poses, looking for all the world as though an excellent play had commenced. Harry saw Professor McGonagall stow her wand up her sleeve.

They had trained for situations like this. Lions that quaked under pressure and erupted in public were to be treated as thus:

"Oho!" Fred wriggled his eyebrows at the younger boy. "Can I be your alpha? I mean, Nev-Nev, you look fabulous! Have you been eating at all?"

"Honestly, Neville," Hermione said. "What in the world has gotten into you?"

"_No_!" howled Neville. "Stop it, all of you! Don't you see? _This is our livelihood_!"

Seamus Finnigan's face was squashed by the palm of his hand. He was practically laying on the table. "Cool down, man. The food's coming after the Firsties are Sorted."

Neville cackled helplessly. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see nearly all of the Hall gawking, and the churning sky only added to the drama. It roared, and precipitation evaded the violent flames and disappeared soon after. The lightning flickered across stone and flesh as though by light-switch, rapidly transforming Neville's features; a stranger's cruel face was revealed, and the strikes left behind, for a fraction of a second, a peculiar neon blue hue that electro-shocked the boy's crazed orbs.

"The King is coming! He's going to put spies in our Pride!"

None of the Gryffindors tensed. Though, for the swiftest of moments, their eyes glittered.

George snickered loudly. "Is he really? Speak for yourself, Ickle Nevikins. The King will come in _your_ Pride—"

"_Oh_," Parvati said anxiously. "Has your Great-Uncle Algie thrown you from a high window again, Neville?"

"I bet he's been hanging around Loony for too long," said Lavender Brown snidely.

Neville shook his head frantically and made a move to speak again, but a concerned voice thinly veiled in amusement cut through the coiled tension.

"Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, "as dire as this is, I'm afraid we must move on to the Sorting. The Baron can only hold Peeves from the new students for so long. I would like you to follow Madam Pomfrey to the Hospital Wing, please."

The boy tilted on his feet drunkenly, as colorless as a corpse.

"Professor," he said distantly. "Professor, you can't let it happen."

"Hm, I won't, Mr. Longbottom." The old man was clearly humoring him.

Neville was escorted from the Great Hall. Before the Houses could erupt in a flurry of gossip or do much else than say, "Mental!" the First Years slouched in, looking rather more like they were being sent to their execution than to school.

The Gryffindors did a job of appearing to eagerly watch as McGonagall conjured a stool and pulled out the Sorting Hat, but their attention was wholly focused on the Fourth Pride. Most had their eyes on Parvati Patil.

The Sorting Hat inhaled a long, rattling breath before bursting into song. This was the first time Harry was present to a Sorting Ceremony not his own, and he struggled to make out the words over the hissing whispers of the Hufflepuffs. He gave up the moment Hermione spoke.

"Don't look at the Alpha," she murmured, barely moving her lips. "Keep your attention focused on the Sorting Hat."

Harry felt a mite aggravated—_respect yourself_—and allowed no muscle in his face to even twitch as he imagined biting down.

He _really would_ rather Hermione pretend she was still in charge until their Seventh Year, if only to save him time and frustration. So he had nothing to complain about.

He imagined pressure on his teeth, on his tongue, the warm trails sliding down his jaw and neck, _spilling_ from the corners of his mouth.

Nothing.

"Ackerly, Stewart!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing to remember the sad circumstance of Gryffindor House. Slytherin discontinued its commentary, not out of respect like its sister-Houses, but because many were gearing up for desecration.

"RAVENCLAW!" was the first House called. The boy's knees knocked together before he scurried off to his new table.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The twins hissed and wagged their tongues as the boy sat down, and the rest of Gryffindor grumbled or clapped half-heartedly. Lee Jordan nodded regally and said, "Good show, good show. A real Azkaban-ee in training! Such a high shooter, that one."

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

The Great Hall held its breath. Eleanor's older brother and Alpha of the First Pride, Winston Branstone, crossed his fingers.

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Gryffindors exhaled in mutual dismay. Eleanor's eyes filled with tears like most rejected children, and she ran to Ginny Weasley's arms, shaking. Nearly half of Slytherin hooted with laughter and slung profane jeers at their rival House. Winston slowly lowered his hands and continued to deflate until he was leaning on Jarle McDonald, his Beta, eyes squeezed shut.

"Caudwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Denis!"

Harry's body jerked. He felt very much like he had been dreaming of flying before he suddenly fell—and his feet hit the bed, and his stomach dropped as though it truly happened—

Because he recognized that surname, though it wasn't common at all. And the small boy, oddly drenched from head to foot, scampered very much like another boy, a boy whom Harry despised.

Before the Sorting Hat even touched the boy's head, Harry knew what was going to happen, and he half rose, unconscious of doing so, as panic seized him.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Every person in the Great Hall froze. Not recognizing 'Creevey' as a wizarding name with a long line of Lion in its blood, the Gryffindors hadn't paid much mind to the little muggle-born other than to ponder why he was so wet. But, having treated the Sorting Ceremony as a sacred day, like a nation mourning a severe loss, every member of the Pride had listened absently and so heard his name.

"_DENIS_!"

The Gryffindor Table shot to their feet and repeatedly stomped in unison, causing the stone ground to rumble as though a stampede was passing by the stained-glass windows. The vibrations traveled from the soles of their feet to their chests before they released a roar, a single lion waking its kingdom.

Harry remembered his Sorting. The Gryffindors had reacted insanely, like wild beasts. Now he understood. Something overtook them all. And now it claimed him.

An oleaginous magic sparked in his breast and melted his initial consternation. It plunged to his navel before it sent shocks up his spine and muffled all rationality with thundering static. He trembled as he experienced the blast of pure relief—_You didn't__ destroy the__ succession system, you didn't, you didn't!_—and he tasted pure euphoria. There was something primal about welcoming a new Cub into the Pride, something that ignited his nerves and set his snowy mind on fire.

Harry was the first to reach the boy, being nearest to the Head Table. He knew his grin was all teeth, was frightening, but he pulled tiny Denis into a suffocating embrace anyway.

"Welcome to the Pride," he whispered breathlessly before shoving him at Lavender, who immediately swooped to kiss him smack on the lips.

The headmaster was standing, beaming broadly as he clapped with so much vigor that Snape had to lean to the side to avoid the swinging purple sleeves. Professor Sprout was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, happily shouting at Professor Sinistra as Professor Flitwick sobbed into his small hands. The Head of Gryffindor obliviously pounded the Sorting Hat as she slammed her hands together and looked down at her Pride with a fierce expression, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Dobbs, Emma!" quickly joined Gryffindor House to just as much enthusiasm. She was passed to each Lion to be welcomed, and was even thrown over the table—much to her delight—by George to Fred once she reached the back of the Hall.

The Gryffindors were yet again overwhelmed when "Llewellyn, Disgleirio!" and "McDonald, Natalie!" were Sorted into their House.

Light-headed with joy, the Gryffindors barely spared a glance for Mad-Eye Moody when he limped into the Great Hall, and Headmaster Dumbledore's speech was short: "_Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. _Welcome to Hogwarts!"

The Lions screamed through the school anthem while the four new Cubs sat atop their shoulders, champions above all the other freshly minted. Most Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs sang their support, laughing along with the Gryffindor First Years as the Seventh Years holding them bopped and swayed to the beat.

It was only when everyone tucked into the feast that Harry glanced up. And remembered something crucial.

Eleanor Branstone stared at her brother in utmost betrayal; Winston held up Disgleirio Llewellyn during the school song, and he hadn't glanced her way since Denis Creevey had been Sorted. Ginny Weasley still had her arm around the young Ravenclaw's shoulders, dismayed herself. She shared a dark glower with her own brother who was seated tensely next to the Bloody Baron at the Slytherin Table. Other rejected would-be Lions glared murderously at the new Cubs.

Yes, Harry remembered—and light shone, shivers wrecked his body as though it was _he_ that had been drenched, and his mind was pounded and pulled down by a powerful wave of vertigo as it crashed over his head. Then he surface, himself once more.

He wasn't suppose to be pleased that there were Gryffindor First Years. He was suppose to mask his grin as the Pride died off, and then not give a damn who saw when the remnants of the zeal sickened and eventually withered away—_c__rumbled_ like the Byzantine Empire that believed so _earnestly_ that they were Roman.

He realized a fundamentally different grin was plastered on his face like a scabbed scar, and it would not go away. Until it was suddenly gone, simply faded into nothingness as a singular thought creeped around his battered mind.

It _was not_ the obvious fact that after two years of co-conspiring internal collapse, he still could not shake off the stirrings of fascism in his heart.

It was the grating horrible certainty that Neville Longbottom was actually a genius.

* * *

Over the chilling, rattling breaths of the Bloody Baron, the usual frivolous prattle could be heard. "Pathetic," he muttered, and the ghost wheezed sadly beside him, "Exceptionally."

After Ginny passed on her message, he had turned to his empty plate and filled it with life as he covertly listened. It was _almost_ surprising that what truly mattered wasn't being discussed, that none of the 'big, bad, _brilliant_' Snakes had paid more than a passing glance for the resurrection of their great foe.

"Professor Snape will have to rearrange his lesson plans to accommodate the stupid," Draco Malfoy had immediately sniggered like a silly little boy who thought he was a whole bunch more mature than the other five year-old who tearfully plead to stay awake past her bedtime, and got dessert and story-time for her effort.

Daphne Greengrass then replied, "Poor Astoria. She'll share class with hooligans."

Ron looked over curiously. "Say, when did you know?" He always wondered, but always forgot to ask.

The Bloody Baron's face remained fixed in rigid misery. "The same time as every other Slytherin. When I died."

"Oh, come on. Some Slytherin _had_ to have suspected, dug around—"

"Of course. Once he realized, he renounced Slytherin, changed his name to Peverell, and ran for it. Never looked back. Sharpest Snake there ever was, and there hasn't been another since. Especially not _that_ disgrace." The Bloody Baron sourly eyed the most notorious boot-licker in Slytherin House.

Ron's initial conclusion held steadfast throughout the years. Draco Malfoy had to be _the most_ delusional prick alive. He didn't even seem to realize his head was shoved far up his father's arse. He simply looked behind to the hulking figures of Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabb, thought, _Aren't I smart? _only to be struck dumb by the glaring sunlight that reflected off his slicked blond hair.

And it wasn't _just_ Malfoy! It was Greengrass, too, shockingly—and Parkinson, and Nott, and Zabini, and _all the rest_!

They progressed from the wide grins and breathless insults during the Sorting, but the dialogue was just as meaningless. Anyone with _ears_ should have been able to comprehend what the Gryffindors had done. But Ron supposed Slytherins weren't really _anyone_. They were simply the black sheep of Hogwarts—they stuck out, fancied themselves as 'rebels,' but, still, they were just cattle.

"Longbottom's obviously faking," Malfoy smirked. He didn't hear the Bloody Baron moan in deep pain, or he didn't care, for he continued, "Why, if I had to share a dorm with _Potter_, I'd do the same."

"Amazing. He'd follow in _Longbottom's_ footsteps. Honestly, I don't think he hears himself when he talks."

"Same here," Blaise Zabini said as Ron mumbled to himself. "Even the mudblood is loads better company than the Boy-Who's-Brain-Dead."

Pansy Parkinson wrinkled what she could of her pug-like nose. "Eww, that's disgusting!"

"But true. At least Granger's _intelligent_!"

Ron made a face at a First Year who was staring at him in awe. The girl didn't seem to take the hint, so he turned with a spiteful, unconcerned shrug.

"Memorization does not equate intelligence. All she does is stick her fat nose between the spines of biased books," Daphne Greengrass cut in sharply before she viciously stabbed her plate. She twisted her fork as though the roast beef was the face of her long-time, unrequited rival.

"But, really, did you see Longbottom?" Theodore Nott frowned. "He didn't look well."

He really hadn't. Ron hadn't thought that someone breathing could resemble his Great-Uncle Jebediah, but Longbottom proved him wrong.

"He looked crazy," said Zabini.

"No, I meant he looked ill."

"Mentally ill."

"Didn't one of those ginger menaces say he hadn't eaten?"

Ron groaned and closed his eyes. The Bloody Baron rattled more insistently.

Naturally, it was Greengrass, the 'smart' one—the one with easy recall—that took first bite. And _of course_ it was right out of his brothers' giving hands.

"Oh, yeah. Finnigan tried to tell him the food was coming after the Sorting, but he was so out of it he didn't notice."

"I think he's just crazy," Parkinson said. "He hangs out with Loony Lovegood."

Lavender Brown's plainly hidden threat drifted through his mind. Ron would bet all the gold in the world that Longbottom would stomp all over Lovegood's frail heart within the week. Before the other Gryffindors did it for him.

"He probably hit his head," Zabini grinned. "You heard the Gryffs—Longbottom's thrown out of windows all the time!"

"Sounds like his family's aware how useless he is," Malfoy sneered.

Greengrass narrowed her eyes. "It sounds like he's been abused."

"That's not funny. That's a serious accusation," said Millicent Bulstrode sharply. She was a heavy-set girl who rarely spoke unless prompted so Ron sometimes forgot she existed. It wasn't as though she ever added anything worthwhile to the conversation.

"I didn't _say_ it was funny."

"You know, now that you mention it," Parkinson said thoughtfully to Greengrass, "Parvati was rather protective of him First Year. Normally she doesn't give a rat's arse about anyone."

Malfoy snorted. "You're joking, right? She's a _Gryffindor_. Chivalrous with a side of bleeding heart, or what have you."

Parkinson glowered, and spat, "She's a _bitch_. I don't understand why none of you believe me."

"You always say Parvati Patil is a cold, manipulative harpy—yet, she's a _Gryffindo__r. _Who'sbest friends are _Hufflepuffs_." Greengrass' lip curled. "She lent me a quill when I broke mine, once. Yes, she's your average grindylow."

"Padma is the sweet one!" Parkinson snarled. "Parvati is horrid! You never see them together, do you? It's because Padma knows how her sister is!"

"Actually, I saw them together on the train!" Greengrass hurled back. "They get on famously, and they even offered me some of the lunch their mother packed for them!"

Parkinson's eyes widened, and she muttered worriedly to herself, "Oh no, what did she do to Padma?"

"For Merlin's sake, stop being such a drama queen, Pansy!"

"Seriously," Bulstrode agreed.

"Yeah, we need to focus on more important things," Zabini sneered.

"Yes!" the Bloody Baron said desperately, and unconsciously leaned forward. Then he snapped when Ron scoffed, "I can have hope! It's all I have to live for—_Oh_, _shut it_!"

"Can we discuss how Dumbledore showed his obvious disrespect for tradition just so the Gryffindorks could bask in their ecstasy and dance like buffoons?"

"I know," Greengrass gasped. "He didn't even bother to mention the Triwizard Tournament! The bastard! He wouldn't do that for us, if we received new Snakes after a few empty years. How do the Ravenclaws not see he's a manipulative bigot? And the Gryffindors constantly spout him praises, blind idiots they are!"

"_Merlin_." Ron could _see_ the Bloody Baron sink further into depression. "You just heard her insist the Indian girl couldn't possibly harm a fly because she's a Gryffindor—but when it's _Dumbledore_…"

"Do you think you were as Slytherin as her when you were alive?"

The Bloody Baron looked at him wrenchingly before he pushed away from the Slytherin Table and glided from the Great Hall.

Hmm. Maybe he should tone it down a bit. Slytherin would lose _all_ of its charm if he couldn't degrade Slytherin with Slytherin's resident ghost.

He heard a choking noise and looked around. The little Snake was positively gaping.

"_What_?"

The girl's lips trembled. For a moment, Ron thought she'd lose her nerve—or cry. Instead, she said, "Are Gryffindors… _are_ they—?"

"Yeah." Ron shoved some meat in his maw and took his savory time chewing. He swallowed. "What's it to _you_?"

"My sister is Daphne Greengrass—" she started.

"Oh, Astoria. You'll have class with _hooligans_. Poor you."

She glared at him. "What about _Slytherin_?"

Ron looked at her with some bemusement. "What about it? You'll have class with them, too."

"No! Isn't Slytherin _cunning_?"

Ron tore off another chunk of meat. "In theory." He chewed.

"Theory."

He swallowed. "There's alsoa _theory_ that muggle-borns are different than purebloods."

Astoria raised her eyebrows. "You're saying they're not?"

"In culture, sure. But look over there. See that bushy-haired Gryffindor? _That's_ Hermione Granger. She exceeds your sister in every subject, and her _only_ competition is Harry Potter. She's the biggest muggle-born of them all."

Her pensive experience cleared, and she let out a rather undignified snort. "Harry Potter? The biggest disappointment of the century, _Harry Potter_?"

"Granger once told me that muggle researchers confirmed most siblings are _very_ close in intelligence. I've never been sure. You can't very well make judgments on everybody based off your own family, can you? So thanks for clearing it up."

Ron smiled as though he was oblivious to her outrage and turned back to his meal. Any other year, he'd go to the twins, tell them that Pansy Parkinson might be dangerous. Any other year, he'd never be so _careless_ as to allow any student, professor, or _anything_ overhear him and the Bloody Baron. Any other year, he'd _never_ converse with a First Year, let alone _Astoria Greengrass_. But…

His eyes cut across the Great Hall to four children. Their grins were so radiant, it was a wonder they didn't explode.

His fingers tightened around his cutlery. The twins could bloody well handle themselves.

* * *

"You handled that really well."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious, Harry. I saw Zacharias Smith eavesdropping on you before Neville lost it. You didn't give anything away."

"Didn't need to. Neville did all the work for me."

Hermione's lips twitched. "I suppose he did."

The both quieted and grabbed each other's robes to make certain they weren't separated as they were pulled along the crowd clambering to exit the Entrance Hall. After a couple minutes of struggle, they were able to start up the Main Staircase.

"It would seem Neville is in an unhealthy relationship with the twins," Harry murmured, having passed a tittering group of girls debating whether incest should hold back 'soul mates.'

"Oh no," Hermione said, "I just heard that Professor Snape is actually in love with Neville."

"It suddenly all makes sense!"

"Poor Professor Snape. He doesn't have much of a chance at all, I'm afraid."

"I think not. Not with the twins being spring chickens, and his boggart being what it is."

"Wait, what?" gasped a Ravenclaw First Year slinking by Hermione's shoulder. "Professor Snape is in love with that loopy guy everyone's been talking about?"

Harry and Hermione shared a brief glance. Their expressions crumpled with concern.

"Well," Harry said, "Longbottom's been acting strange since last year."

"You heard us talking about the boggart, yes? A boggart is a creature that transforms into what you fear most. And Longbottom's boggart is Professor Snape."

The boy looked at them blankly. "Why?"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, _of course_ you wouldn't understand! You're just a little boy."

The Ravenclaw's eyes widened before they narrowed in a fierce scowl. "I'm not little!"

"You're too young to understand," she countered with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

"Fine! I'll go ask _my Perfect_, then!"

The Ravenclaw stomped off in the opposite direction.

From behind bloomed barking laughter, and arms were flung over their shoulders. A face followed, nuzzling Harry with a distinct air of satire.

"That was great," Seamus chortled as Harry pushed the boy's sandy head away. "That was cruel!"

"Neville needs to be punished," said Hermione superciliously.

"And if we can kill two birds with one stone, why shouldn't we?" Harry said.

"Ha ha ha!"

"Is that all?" Lavender asked, appearing by Harry's side.

"I don't think that was nearly enough," Parvati agreed beside Hermione.

"No, it's just the beginning," Harry assured them. "But we'll let the Den talk. If they forbid any actual action from us, we'll just fuck with his mind."

They were all silent for a moment, rather shocked. They hadn't thought him capable of it; even Hermione swore more than him. Harry failed not to be insulted.

Then Lavender said, "That's where Flitwick's apple went!" and they had to stop for a few moments as they doubled over in silence save for the spontaneous snort and snigger.

Seamus released them so they could walk up the narrow staircase that led to the Seventh Floor, carefully invading the trick stair. Harry leaned over, and breathed, "Anything you want to add, Beta Granger?"

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment. "Honestly? I think you've got it all covered."

She smiled at him before she strode away and climbed through the portrait hole after Seamus.

Harry glared at her back and grumbled to himself as he followed. Very clever. So very clever, she was.

"Where is everyone?" Parvati asked, looking around the crimson Common Room in confusion.

"The twins are taking the First Years on a wild goose chase," Hermione said. "The Pride is herding them so they don't get hurt."

"I remember when our Council did that," Lavender snorted as she flung herself on the most prominent overstuffed couch.

"I definitely remember that," Seamus smirked. "I remember Wood carrying Alpha Potter around like he was a pharaoh while the rest of us poor children had to drag our own dead weight."

"Hey," Harry said. "I didn't ask him to do that." Though he welcomed it. He had been exhausted.

"He knew you were special," Hermione said, that stupid smile still present on her face. Like a leech that wouldn't shrivel and die.

"I think Disgleirio Llewellyn will be chosen," Parvati said thoughtfully. "He had an air about him, didn't he? The Upper Prides are bound to notice."

Hermione snorted. "So does Seamus."

"Hey, what's that suppose to mean?"

"I rest my case."

"Who do _you_ think they'll choose?" Parvati asked.

Harry brushed his hands against the rough stone before braced himself, hopped up, and gingerly leaned against the window pane. The chill of the stone seeped through his trousers.

"Doesn't matter what _they_ think, does it? It matters what _we_ think."

The Fourth Years all froze is comprehension. Then Hermione leaped from her position in front of the fire.

"_What_—?" she gasped. "How could you—? If you knew, _why didn't we take them_!"

Harry looked at her with a taunting gleam in his eye. "Why, 'Mione, I just remembered. Haven't you been trained for this? Hasn't Wood prepared you for this day—for three years?"

Hermione's face flushed a horrible red, and she looked too angry to even speak.

Seamus sniggered. "Damn, Alpha Potter. Rule with an iron-fist, eh?"

Harry closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, opened them, and smiled wanly. "I was just kidding, Hermione. I honestly didn't remember until Lavender mentioned it. Why should you have remembered? It's not as though there's been any Cubs from previous years that could have reminded us."

Hermione's exhale was explosive. "A complete breach of trust, of tradition! How could they do this to us?"

Harry chuckled. "It's the twins. It's Gryffindor. Have you forgotten, Hermione?"

Merlin, was she manipulative.

Her brown eyes blazed. "Even so! As a Pride, we need to look after each other when it counts! This—This day is important! Our first group of First Years in years!"

"'When it counts?' Hermione, it only counts when we go to war or—or when one of us is starving and desperately needs a job. Introducing our Cubs to the castle is a slap in the face, sure, but it isn't betrayal. Besides, we can get them back."

"How?" Seamus asked.

Harry looked at each of his attentive peers. Could it really be this easy? They were just as clever, just as cunning as he—they'd play along until the end. The very end. He could count on that.

"I was thinking… You guys know Winston's sister?"

"Eleanor?"

"Yeah. You know the twin's sister?"

"Ginny?"

"And that loud outcast in Slytherin?"

"Romilda Vane?"

"Yeah. Everyone agrees that they should have made Gryffindor, right?"

The Fourth Years looked at each other uneasily.

"We can't know that," Hermione said. "I'm sure the Sorting Hat had its reasons."

"It did." Harry fidgeted. "I know why it didn't Sort anyone."

Every eye widened.

"Do—Do any of you remember how long my Sorting took?"

Lavender blinked slowly, and Seamus said, "Uh, yeah. You're Harry Potter. Everyone was watching."

"You were there for thirteen seconds," said Hermione. "I counted. I thought the Pride would die from eagerness."

Exhale. Inhale. "Did you know the Sorting Hat can perform Dilegilimency?"

Parvati scanned his face. "Well? What did it show you? What did it say?"

"It told me that the next Gryffindor would bring us great misfortune."

They digested this for a moment. Harry watched them, wondering what _they_ were told.

"The Pride?" Parvati said.

"The Pride."

Seamus drew out a long whistle. "Man. So Denis Creevey is a spy, eh?"

Everyone snorted.

"Oh, stop," Hermione said. "Harry, we know you're lying. And we know that you know that we know you're lying—"

"Whoa, you stop," Seamus complained. "Let me think about that for a minute—"

"I'm not lying."

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. "Oh, please, we weren't born yesterday. Why would the Sorting Hat block all the candidates from their rightful House only to let in the one that would destroy it?"

Harry forced a look of pity. "The Sorting Hat hates Gryffindor. It spent all that time trying to convince me to go to Slytherin."

Lavender laughed so hard she nearly tumbled to the floor.

"_Slytherin_!" she gasped. "You—a Slytherin? Good one, Harry!"

Seamus was in a similar state, but Parvati only giggled a bit, seemingly an involuntary echo, before she took Hermione's cross stance.

"Come on, Alpha Potter," she said. "Hermione's right. You don't have to play with us. We'll follow you anyway, without any tricks."

Harry looked at her, exasperated. How silly they all were. They didn't even _suspect_ he didn't give a damn about the Pride. For them, it wasn't even a potential flitting thought. If they knew—He'd like to see Parvati maintain honor in face of the truth.

"_Harry_," sighed Hermione. "Has any important secret ever left the Pride? I know we're all harsh on each other, but if there was one thing I did in my time as Alpha, it was that I built mutual trust—an unbreakable trust. So, please, Harry, trust us."

Of course no 'important' secret had ever left the Fourth Pride. None of them had an important secret to lose. Or, much like himself, they had not shared.

"I'm serious," he said in agitation. "It really hates Gryffindor, and I don't know why. Neville may have gone barmy, but he made a good point. These new First Years—why them? After so many years, why them? Why wasn't Ginny Weasley Sorted into Gryffindor? Why wasn't Eleanor Branstone? Why was Denis Creevey?"

That gave them a pause.

Lavender frowned heavily. In a rare moment of honesty, she said succinctly, "Following that line of thought, we can only assume Neville knew beforehand it was going to happen."

"Neville told me his grandmother went to speak to Professor Dumbledore over the summer. He had a chat with the hat when they left him in the Headmaster's Office."

"Why would they leave him alone in Dumbledore's office?"

"They probably wanted him to know."

"Oh," Hermione said wonderingly. "Oh."

"What?" Seamus asked. Parvati and Lavender exchanged bewildered glances.

"Isn't it obvious? They set this all up!"

Six eyes blinked while Harry laughed, "I thought I was going barmy myself, jumping to conclusions and making strange connections!"

Seamus huffed. "Oh, don't mind us."

Hermione clicked her tongue impatiently. "Don't you see? Dumbledore had the Sorting Hat spout rhetoric to Harry to prove he was an able Gryffindor! Then Dumbledore puts a magical block on the hat to stop all future Gryffindors from making it. Then he calls in the Longbottom's, has Neville play out that scene, then waits until Denis Creevey is up to dismantle the block!"

"What?" the three exclaimed.

"Wait, no! This is all the Sorting Hat's doing! Godric Gryffindor enchanted the hat, and it's resentful of its life as a slave, so it plotted against Gryffindor all these years, and it figured Harry would be the one to finish it! So then it doesn't Sort any more Gryffindors, but then Dumbledore enchanted it once it didn't Sort Eleanor in her proper House—"

"Hermione," Lavender said, her mouth open in shocked disbelief. "I never thought I'd say this. You are an idiot."

Hermione's triumphant smile quickly slipped. "Excuse me?"

"You're dancing right to Harry's tune. He just gave you some random facts, and you string together a nonexistent event! _Two nonexistent__ events_!"

"I did _not_! It's all perfectly logical—!"

"It's not!" Seamus looked at her as though he had never met her in his entire life. "Merlin, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"_Excuse me_?"

"I can't believe it, but I agree with Seamus," Parvati said. "Hermione, that's ridiculous."

"It is not—!"

"It is, Hermione," said Harry. "That's not what I was getting at, at all."

Hermione gazed at him, thunderstruck.

"But, then," he continued, "I know you don't believe it either." Harry smirked at her, and jeered, "Oh, _stop_. Hermione, you know I'm lying. And we know you're lying. And we know that you know that we know you're lying!"

Like syrup released from cupped hands, his peers' posture fluidly shifted and their incredulity dripped from their features. Hermione smiled.

"Well, if you'd stop being so difficult, we could move on," she said prepensely. "I thought Natalie McDonald had potential—"

"Oh, _no no no_!" Harry smiled back. "Who's Alpha here, _Beta Granger_?"

Hermione scowled, then quickly controlled herself. "Would you like to begin, Alpha Potter?"

"Of course." He lightly slapped a hand on his chest. "Why, it's only custom! What a breach of trust, of _tradition_ it'd be to squander that! How could anyone ever do such a thing?"

"I have no idea," she replied. "The most wretched of people, I'd think."

Harry nodded disarmingly, "I'd imagine so."

"_Oh, stop_," Seamus sighed. "We know that you guys know that we know—"

"I figured it out," said Harry. "It's a crazy plan. But I do trust you. We're a Pride, after all."

"Spare me," Lavender snorted, again on the precipice of hysteria.

"You guys might not believe me, but the Sorting Hat really does hate Gryffindor, and I know it didn't Sort anymore Gryffindors because of me. You don't have to believe me. But you need to trust me. We're a Pride, and if Neville is even slightly right, we have to be careful. I can't risk you guys by being stupid. The wolf might really have invaded our pasture."

"What?" Seamus said, nonplussed. "Wolf? Don't you mean snake?"

Harry shot him a vexed glare, and Hermione said impatiently, "_The Boy Who Cried 'Wolf!'_ It's a muggle thing."

"Ha ha. So we have the Boy-Who-Lived and the Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf?"

"Shut _up_, Seamus!" Parvati's eyes beseeched the ceiling.

"As I was _saying_—" Harry scoffed, "We all know some people who are rightful Gryffindors, yeah? I say we bring them into the Pride."

Suddenly, they all turned serious. Suddenly, it was no longer a joke.

Hermione was looking at him, just _staring_. Parvati abruptly sat down, face like stone. Lavender's hands curled into fists. And Seamus—

"Are you _mad_? You _just_ went on about how the Cubs couldn't be trusted, then you say you want to bring in people—_people__ who haven't even been chosen by the Sorting Hat_!"

Harry looked at the heavy-breathing, red-faced boy.

"The hat is not the be-all, end-all," he said coldly. "The Founders never used it. Not even Gryffindor, and he made it decades before he died. And kids still choose where they want to go. Or did you not read _Hogwarts, a History_?"

They looked at Hermione. She swallowed, a sudden fear splaying across her face.

"'_The Sorting Hat is the one lasting relic of the Founders that has been kept in the public's hands. As Hogwarts' Charter makes no mention of the hat, it rightfully belongs to the Gryffindor__ family__. The Sorting Hat's original purpose is unknown, but it is used today to place children in one of the four Houses in the Founder's steed. _

"'_From various accounts and confirmation by Headmaster __Armando__ Dippet (__1837-1952__), the Sorting Hat puts a child's bias as first priority. If a child is indecisive, the Sorting Hat may attempt to persuade the child to choose a certain House. Dippet and the portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses speculate that the Sorting Hat enjoys trickery and mayhem, and rarely offers genuine advice (See _The Dangerous Exploits of Ghostly Beings_, p__age __649). If a child is not immediately Sorted within the first seven seconds, it is standard procedure for the current headmaster to question the child and re-Sort him or her if it is proven the hat had indulged in mischief_.'"

The silence rang.

Eventually, Seamus said, "I think its purpose was to hide Godric's receding hairline."

"Harry," Lavender said gravely. "Did Dumbledore—?"

"No," said Harry quietly. "Even if he had, it wouldn't have mattered. I was too stubborn for the hat. Whenever I asked if I fit Gryffindor, it'd just rant about the other Houses' characteristics."

"Why didn't I see it before? How could I have forgotten?" Hermione looked furious with herself. "I read it so many times…"

"It's alright, Hermione. How could you have known? It's not like anyone would ever suspect the hat to not Sort Gryffindors for its own amusement. That sounds insane."

A horrible feeling was twisting his intestines. He himself had never read _Hogwarts, a History_, but instead heard a Second Year Cho Chang talking to Luna Lovegood about how the hat Sorts based on what the child wants. For years, he thought the Sorting Hat had a vendetta against Gryffindor. _But now…_

Merlin. _Thirteen seconds_. How badly had he been played?

"Does that mean—" Parvati hesitated. "Does that mean _Dumbledore knew_? That Dumbledore could have ordered the hat to Sort Gryffindors again? That Dumbledore could have _re-Sorted_ Ron and Ginny Weasley, and all the others?"

Hermione was stark white. "Yes. Yes, he could have."

Lavender shivered. "So… What makes the Cubs different?"

They glanced at each other uneasily before they looked at Harry. And he knew he had them.

"We should indoctrinate the Lost Lions," Harry said solemnly, using the hated title Rita Skeeter coined two years before. "Be their Council. We can decide, like the Founders had. We know Gryffindor from the inside out, and we can distinguish a Lion from a Snake. And I saw the new Cubs. As Alpha, I should have seen my predecessor, but I didn't. Not these Cubs."

Hermione looked at him intensely. "Who?"

"A future Lion can't spot the King until they've been Sorted, so I don't know, do I? I guess it would be Eleanor Branstone."

They let out a collective breath.

"Makes sense," Lavender said. "Did you guys see the look she gave her brother? Definitely a Lion."

"What about Natalie McDonald?" Hermione frowned. "She seemed special—oh. She's Beta, isn't she?"

Harry nodded. "Must be."

"So Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Romilda Vane, Colin Creevey—"

"No!" Harry interrupted Seamus, overhauling his plans in a single instant. "Only First Years."

Parvati looked at him incredulously. "Why?"

"Because they wouldn't be our Cubs," Hermione said shrewdly. "They'd give their loyalty to the Upper Prides."

"But wouldn't that be the best revenge?" said Lavender. "We take _their_ Cubs."

"Ronald and Ginny will immediately seek out the twins—"

"I don't know about that," Seamus said. "They were sort of cold when the twins went over to them."

"They're jealous," Lavender agreed.

"It doesn't matter how they feel now. The moment we Sort them, they'll go straight to the twins," Hermione said sharply.

Harry nodded. "Exactly. And once the twins find out we took in the others without Ron and Ginny, they'll skin us alive. We need to stick with the First Years."

"Alright," Parvati sighed. "So Eleanor Branstone. Who else?"

"That's it. Eleanor Branstone."

Lavender's head snapped up. "That's completely unfair!"

Hermione sighed, aggravated. "No it's not. There's five of us. There were only five potential Lions this year."

"How do you know?" Lavender grumbled, but laid back on the pillows.

"So Natalie's with me, Eleanor's with Harry. What about you guys?"

Parvati immediately said, "Disgleirio's with me."

"I'll take Denis," Seamus said.

Lavender smiled. "Good, I wanted Emma."

"Then it's settled," Hermione said, satisfied.

"No, it's not," Parvati snorted. "You guys are forgetting Neville."

_Everyone_ was thrown. Even Harry.

Lavender's eyes glinted. "So there _is_ another Lion!"

Harry sworn under his breath, and they looked at him sympathetically. The mystery person could be the Alpha, and they had no way of knowing which First Year could have been Sorted into Gryffindor. Especially if it was a muggle-born.

"It's probably Eleanor," Lavender said unsurely. "Winston's a great Alpha."

"So are the twins, but Ron is a buffoon," said Harry coldly.

"We'll have to seek him out," Seamus said. "Look around for a few weeks."

"Or _her_. I'll ask Professor McGonagall if I can student-teach the First Years," Hermione said.

"And what would you tell her?" said Harry bitingly. Like hell Hermione would help him. "We are _not_ telling McGonagall what we're doing."

"Why not?" Hermione snapped. "It wouldn't be strange for me to help the Cubs. And it's not like it's certain she knows about Dumbledore—"

"_She's Head of Gryffindor_! She has nearly as much power over us as the King—_of course_ she could have Sorted Ginny Weasley!"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Then what do you propose? We have to find the last Cub!"

"I'll sit in with Flitwick," Harry said decisively. "He's from another House, he won't be suspicious."

"And what will you tell him?" Hermione parroted mockingly.

The corners of Harry's lips curled. "Why, I'll tell him I want to make my mum proud. That I need to go over the basics with OWLs so close. I'll tell him my _dearest_ friend insisted the best way to learn is to teach."

She glowered darkly, and Seamus said, "Uh, we done now?"

"We'll be done when we're good and ready!" Hermione near snarled.

"Uh, that's great and all, but I hear footsteps outside the—"

The Fourth Years froze at the sound of the Fat Lady's voice: _"Password?"_

They burst into a flurry of activity. Lavender sprang over the back of the couch and raced Parvati to their usual cushy armchairs. Seamus flung himself onto the carpet next to the fireplace, and Hermione rushed over to a nearby table, pulling a slim book from her pocket.

"Don't panic," she advised lowly.

Harry swung his legs up and looked morosely out the rain-streaked window. He muttered back, "There's no need to."

* * *

Katie hated the first night back at Hogwarts. Hours on a bloody train, an hour of Sorting, two hours of face-stuffing—Gryffindors were mental, holding meetings.

She could feel her teeth leaving indentations on her smushed cheek, and the already dim room was shrouded by her dark lashes. It was warm in the Den, and her armchair must have dropped from heaven. It was beautiful, near perfect, only—

She promised herself she'd make Cormac McLaggen suffer if he did not stop prodding her ankle.

"Katie, come on," he whined. "You can't sleep through the First Meeting."

She hated it when he was wrong just to annoy her. "Yes, I can."

"Well, you shouldn't," Cormac allowed, and she _loathed_ it when he was wrong unintentionally.

"This is not the First Meeting."

He tickled her bone, and Katie kicked her leg out in a fit of anger. Cormac snatched his hand back.

He gave her a_ look_. "Uh, yeah it is."

"I'm going to _kill_ you."

"Listen up," George Weasley bounced excitedly into the packed Gryffindor Common Room. The smug smirk he sent Katie alerted her to the danger of being spotted by Professor Flitwick tomorrow. "I'm head wolf here!"

The Cubs grinned up at him like happy puppies before their faces fell in fear when Fred Weasley, George's twin and co-Alpha, appeared out of seemingly nowhere (which happened to be at the back of Katie's armchair) and slammed his hands down on the small tea-table.

"_Why are you laughing_? It's _Head Lions_ to you, maggots!"

"_Hyena dung_!"

"_Ickle Firsties_!"

Fred and George stared at the petrified children for a moment before they broke into great guffaws.

Angelina Johnson, Beta of the Den, shook her head and gave Katie a pseudo-sympathetic look. Katie didn't know if she could take this in her current state.

"What they mean," said Lee Jordan, George's best friend, "is _welcome_. Normally, Alphas try to put more effort into scaring you Firsties, but that would take a long time. We've got some ladies to gossip about."

Lee looked heatedly at Angelina, and reached out to poke her.

Angelina easily twisted away, and snorted. "That being said, we need to explain the hierarchy to you little guys before you head off."

"No," Katie moaned before she snapped her head up to glare a dire warning at Cormac. The fool nearly touched her again.

"I'm Head Lion," Fred said smugly.

"_No_," said George, "I am!"

"No! _I am_!"

"In your perverted dreams!"

"_And perverted reality_!"

"What they _mean_," Angelina said, scowling as she seemed to realized she'd have to be the messenger, "is that they're both Alphas of the Den. The Den is the Common Room—" She spread her arms wide to encompass the circular walls, "and dormitories. The Gryffindor Tower. But not Professor McGonagall's private chambers."

"Why are you so tired?" Cormac murmured. "You're normally only tired in the morning."

"Wrong," said Katie darkly. Her neck and spine tingled with the need to hurt him.

He got the hint. "I'll shut up now."

"Perhaps I'll keep you."

"Don't worry, lassies," George said. "Girls can be Alpha, too. Minnie's an Alpha."

Angelina patiently waited for him to continue, but the twins just smirked at her, and, for that, Katie smiled on the inside.

"'Minnie' is McGonagall's Pride Name—we'll get back to that. Gryffindor House operates a lot like an actual lion pack—a pride. When we're in the company of fellow Gryffindors, we call the collective students of Gryffindor, and all those who graduated from Hogwarts, 'the Pride.'" She paused. "Well, I guess anyone who was Sorted. Like Hagrid."

Katie looked through heavy lids as Angelina glanced at Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, seemingly oblivious to the insult, returned the stare blankly. Parvati Patil twitched at his side.

She'd make Oliver eat his own tongue. She was _clearly_ going to win the bet.

"Normally when we say 'the Pride,' we're talking about current students, so don't worry, thinking strangers are stalking the corridors. Now, in a pride, a hierarchy is form. Usually a dominant male becomes the alpha, the leader of the pack. However, since we're humans, and we don't rely on silly displays of physical strength, girls usually become Alpha."

Most girls preened while the boys rolled their eyes. Katie just sneered at a huffy Cormac, who was really more of a girl than she was.

"Just because we don't work like house-elves and Hufflepuffs, it doesn't mean you guys are more smart," said Cormac. It was embarrassing that he was her Beta. Well, it would be if everyone actually believed he was as stupid as he sounded.

"More intelligent," corrected Hermione Granger, the apparent former Alpha of the Fourth Pride, and resident know-it-all. "Smarter."

"And I'm really lazy," drawled Katie. She didn't like speaking while she was on the cusp of sleep, but she derived so much amusement from ribbing Cormac that she was willing to do so. "Or have you forgotten all the paperwork I need done by Friday?"

"Classes haven't even started!" Cormac exclaimed. "There is no homework yet!"

"You let him do your homework?" asked Alicia Spinnet incredulously. She was Alpha of the Second Pride, and Katie's most prominent adversary.

"Nah," Katie yawned. "I make him do _his_ homework."

She scowled at the Den when their looks urged her to elaborate. "He's so damn stupid that instead of taking a legitimate apprenticeship over the summer, like his father wanted him to, he begged me to fake it. So I make sure that he spends eight hours every day on homework. Or work I assign. Once something is done, I grade it. Then—once he gets an O—I do my own homework."

The Den laughed.

"You're cruel!" grinned Winston Branstone, Alpha of the First Pride, and Oliver Wood's best friend.

"I thought your parents didn't make you do anything," said Hermione, looking at Cormac.

"They don't," Katie cut in smugly. "That is, they didn't until he dishonored his family name so egregiously—"

"_Katie_!"

"_Alpha Bell to you, maggot_!"

The Cubs were the first to laugh, and the rest followed. Katie never understood why she was such the comedian. It wasn't as though she was actually entertaining. Sure, her Potions' essays were classic, and she was in the middle of an ongoing prank war with Professor Flitwick, but _still_. Only two people knew she was an extremely _serious_ person, one being Cormac, who had learned to fear magic the hard way. The other wouldn't fear magic if it pulled his small intestine through his nose.

"Wait," Alicia said. "What about his parents? What does he say when they ask how work is going?"

"I just tell them what I learned in class. And from Katie."

"And they buy that?"

Katie shrugged. "The apple does not fall far from the tree."

"_Hey_!"

The eruption of hysteria only died down when Fred said, "Enough with the chatter! Get a move on Angelina, we're getting old here."

Angelina glared at the red-head playfully. "There can be more than one Alpha in a Pride, but it's usually only two. Three is really stretching it. Gred and Forge here are identical twins, and nearly identical in personality, so it's only natural that they both be Alpha."

"I'm _all nat-ture-el_," Fred enunciated as he sweep a hand down the side of his body.

"AH!" George screamed. "TELL THEM ABOUT THE NICKNAMES! _TELL THEM ABOUT THE_—"

"In the Pride, you get a Pride Name!" Angelina snarled, which was lucky for George because Katie nearly sprang from her chair to rip his throat out.

"Sometimes called your Paw Print."

"_Thanks_, Hermione. Your Pride Name is chosen by a popular vote. If there's a tie, the Alpha is the deciding vote. Since there are two Alphas, I break _their_ tie, if it comes to it."

"What does your Pride Name do?" Fred raised his hand, innocently sitting beside the First Years. Katie eyed his vibrant head. If she stretched, she could kick him.

"It identifies you to other Gryffindors," Angelina said dryly. "If alumni walks up to you, they'd automatically address you by your Pride Name. Some complicated magic that Godric Gryffindor wove into the Den's wards. But don't go calling people by their Pride Names all day. That's annoying."

Katie would never forget the look on her uncle's face when he broke their hug, and said, "What's up, Jingle-Bells?" Though she definitely forgot most of the lecture she was forced to endure for hours after.

"Whoa," Disgleirio Llewellyn murmured.

Fred threw his arm over the boy's shoulders. "Right you are, adorable, slovenly little maggot! Right you are."

"Oh, I'm melting!" George swooned. Sometimes, Katie just didn't get him. She could only suppose he did it on purpose.

"_Anyway_. In Gryffindor, all Alphas have a Beta. A second-in-command. That doesn't happen with real lions, but—"

"_BLASPHEMY_!"

Katie jerked from her slight daze and glared at the smirking menace. She nearly tore the look off his face with her boot.

"Shut it, Gred! All Prides in Gryffindor have at least one Alpha and one Beta—"

"Wha—? But…"

"Yes, Disgleirio?" Angelina asked kindly.

The boy suddenly glowered, a far cry from the hesitation he displayed just seconds before.

"It's Rio!" Disgleirio cried. "_Rio_."

Fred ruffled the boy's hair. "Ah, the first to take a Pride Name!"

George wiped an nonexistent tear from his face and sniffled obnoxiously.

"No," Disgleirio fumed. "I don't want it to be my Pride Name! My whole family calls me 'Rio' already!"

Katie felt for the kid. That is to say, she felt nothing but contempt. Whiny little brat. If he got what he wanted, she'd beat the Alpha who had insisted on her horrid PN with one of Hermione's 'light-reading' tomes of death.

Fred chuckled. "My mum knew about our Pride Names, too."

"Was she a Gryffindor?" Disgleirio said suspiciously.

Fred blinked lazily. "Well. I'll be damned."

"It'd be better if it's already your nickname," Hermione said. "That way, when you're surrounded by people, a fellow Gryffindor doesn't call you something stupid or racist. Like Leprechaun."

"Oi!" protested Seamus Finnigan, the intelligent Cormac McLaggen of the Fourth Pride. "It's not _racist_."

"_Not to you_, you're Irish."

"Exactly!"

"Idiot," Parvati murmured.

George stood, fist raised. "All who say yes to 'Rio,' say, 'Aye!'"

"Aye!" parroted the Den. Katie didn't bother to open her mouth, or, indeed, expend an ounce more of energy to grunt, even.

"W-What—?" Disgleirio spluttered in outrage.

"It's alright, we can chan—"

"Angelina, _just what do you think you're doing_?" Fred growled fiercely and melodramatically.

Ah. Katie remembered this. Angelina had chewed out the twins last year for a similar issue (and what a stupid idea _that_ had been) after a confrontation with Romilda Vane.

Disgleirio looked up at Fred in relief.

"Right away, sir," Angelina said sarcastically.

"That's right!" Fred directed his freckled nose to the ceiling.

"So, what were you going to ask, _Rio_, before you had a temper tantrum?" Angelina asked just as kindly as she had when she first addressed the First Year.

Disgleirio glared at her, and shot Fred a hurt look. "That's not my Pride Name!"

"Going against the Will of the Pride?" Fred asked, eyes suddenly void. A chill pervaded the Den, and Katie stiffened and lifted her chin, more awake than before as adrenalin shot through her veins.

Disgleirio whimpered. It looked like Fred was squeezing his shoulder too tightly.

"N-_No_."

"Oh, goodie," Fred smiled, and it was as though nothing at all had transpired. Katie put her head back down. "So answer Beta Johnson, maggot."

"Um… Er… Oh, yeah—I thought we were one Pride."

"He's brilliant," George said _very __seriously_.

"Er… You said 'Prides,' Medusa," Disgleirio clarified before confusion stole over his face.

Angelina didn't even blink. "I was getting there. Collectively, we are one Pride. But within the Pride, there are other groups that we call Prides. We just used the different Years as Prides." She pointed to Winston. "Churchill is the Alpha of the First Pride because he's a Seventh Year. Like, 'first in line to the throne.' You guys are the Seventh Pride. Now, who's muggle-raised?"

Denis Creevey and Emma Dobbs slowly raised their hands.

"Alright. You guys might have heard about this, but I'm going to tell it anyway. Three years ago, something absolutely bizarre occurred." Angelina looked at Fred.

"Our younger brother, Ron," said George solemnly, "was sorted into Slytherin."

"No one in our family has ever been in anything but Gryffindor. But when Ron flipped out in the middle of the Great Hall and demanded he be re-Sorted, we figured we were wrong about him. That he didn't have what it takes to be a Lion."

"Next year, our dear sister, Ginny, turned eleven. When she was put into Ravenclaw, we knew something was wrong."

Fred nodded. "She's more Gryffindor than George is."

"No, she's more Gryffindor than Fred is."

"_Go on_," Angelina snapped.

"Actually, we knew something was wrong when no one was Sorted into Gryffindor," Winston said. "'Weasley' is at the end of the alphabet."

"Right-o," Fred nodded. "But it really hit us when Ginny went to Ravenclaw."

There were murmurs of agreement from across the board. Katie remembered that moment clearly. The Upper Prides had stilled, and her Lord's hand grew heavy on her shoulder. "Merlin," Fred breathed, and Headmaster Dumbledore then stood, face like ice. That's when the Pride _knew_. And feared.

"There haven't been any new Gryffindors in two years," Angelina said. "We weren't sure if it was a dry spell, or what."

"We thought it might be Reversion," Hermione jumped in. "That's—"

"Oh, _stop_," George rolled his eyes. "You didn't know that as a Second Year _or_ a Third Year."

"So?" Hermione leveled him with her best glare, modeled after Professor McGonagall. "I know it now."

"_So_, there's no '_we_—'"

"_As I was saying_!" Angelina barked. "You four are the first Cubs we've had in a while, so the twins and I are still deciding whether we should go by tradition, or—"

"Wait a _moment_." Cormac bristled. He was use to getting what he wanted. "You mean, we're not voting on this? The Ministry of Magic is a democracy—!"

"Illiberal," Angelina dismissed.

Hermione stuck her snoot in the air. "The Ministry of Magic is under the jurisdiction of the Crown. Parliament is a liberal democracy."

"That's right. What she said," Cormac agreed smugly, clearly not knowing a single thing about the muggle government

Angelina's eyes were like daggers.

"Good counter argument," Fred praised Hermione. "Don't you agree, Angelina?"

"_No_. First off, this is _the Pride_, not a bloody government. Second, the Crown is headed by the Qu—"

"I say we take a vote. What say you, Forge?"

"Don't you—"

"_Aye_!"

Katie sniggered, and Alicia unwillingly snorted.

Angelina gnashed her teeth together. "_Alright_. Fourth Pride—tradition, or the new way?"

Parvati immediately said, "Tradition!" before the Upper Prides could catch a glimpse of Hermione or the others. Katie turned to look at Harry Potter—and saw absolutely nothing she shouldn't have seen. What a bastard.

"Aye!" echoed the rest of the Fourth Years.

They scrutinized the teens carefully, but none of the Upper Prides voiced their suspicions.

"Third Pride?" Angelina smiled.

The Fifth Years looked at Katie. Harry Potter suddenly looked a bit 'nervous.' Well, she knew what would break him from his shell.

"Hm," she said. "Tradition."

"_Yes_!" Cormac slumped in relief. "Aye."

"Aye!"

Angelina's expression soured. "What?"

"I'm really busy," said Cormac at the same time Katie yawned, "I'm really lazy."

"Well, _you're_ no help at all, Katie. Second Pride—? Ha, new way."

"Er, no," Fred said. "Nay."

George and the others quickly followed.

Angelina looked thunderous. She was Alpha of the Second Pride, and her Lions never questioned her word on Pride-Year matters before. "_Why_?"

"Well," said Alicia matter-of-factly, tossing Katie an amused glare, "if the Third Pride is going to brush off their Cub in favor of sleeping, I think we should just give the job to the rightful Lions—the Fourth Pride. That's the way Godric Gryffindor designed the system. Now, say, if they weren't Sorted until next year, I'd see the necessity to come up with some new methodology, but presently—well, it's pointless, really."

"Aye," said the Sixth Years.

"Churchill?" Angelina gritted out.

Winston looked at her sympathetically. "I won't repeal the vote. And I know Fred and George won't. Sorry."

"I'll go to McGonagall," Angelina said spitefully.

Winston snorted. "You know as well as the rest of us that McGonagall loves tradition. She won't—she _can't_ veto our decision. That's against Pride Law. _Unless_… you have something _else_ to say, Medusa?"

Angelina bit her cheek.

"Well, then." Winston's eyes gleamed. "Seventh Pride, you are under the Council and Law of the Fourth Pride until they graduate. Now, I think we can all agree that we've talked enough for one night. We'll quickly choose Pride Names, and the Fourth Pride will inform the Cubs about how we operate tomorrow, once they've had time to mull everything over in their sleep. Good with you, Gred, Forge?"

"Good," they said, but they didn't look away from their seething Beta.

"When are we going to discuss Longbottom?" asked Angelina in a chilling tone.

Winston shrugged. "When he gets back from the Hospital Wing. If ever."

The Den quietly absorbed the impact of his words. Katie didn't really give two flying chunks of hippogriff dung about Longbottom, so, instead of carefully weighing options, she wondered if it was worth it to order Cormac to carry her up the stairs. Then Katie remembered the security against invading males, and she sulked.

"Well," Hermione said brusquely as she stood. "Pride Names—"

"'Creepy' for Denis!" Seamus shouted happily. "All in favor, say 'Aye!'"

"Aye!"

And Katie laughed.

* * *

A/N: I know it might bother people that the Gryffindors are so advance. That's the reason I launched this in Harry's Fourth Year. You'll see their charges grow from uncertain little kids into experienced manipulators. Not immediately, but by Third Year they should be able to hold their own.

Think of it this way: If you went to boarding school where you were forced into an unending ruthless game, wouldn't you eventually become really good at it? There are some things that seem beyond children's reach, but that's only because they hadn't learned it early, they hadn't specialized. I mean—look at Master Chef Juniors. I can barely make myself fettuccini, and they're whipping out food I can't even pronounce.


End file.
